


Seven Questions

by Moirae (TigerDragon), TiaNadiezja



Category: DCU - Comicverse, The Question (Comics)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-29
Updated: 2011-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerDragon/pseuds/Moirae, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaNadiezja/pseuds/TiaNadiezja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I grew up in Gotham. Born here, raised here, was a cop here for more years than I like to think about. I left enough of myself on the walls of this town that I can smell it, so you could say I’m something of an expert on it. Enough that you should take it seriously when I tell you this: I hate this place.</p><p>I’m so glad I moved."</p><p>Renee Montoya is back in Gotham. Nobody else seems any happier about that than she is. Sometimes, The Question is just more trouble than anyone wants to hear.</p><p>Nobody said the gig was easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, we don't own any of these characters - DC does.
> 
> This is set after the Question stories in the 2010 Detective Comics Annual and Pipeline, so Renee has both received and dealt with the Mark of Caine. Other events referenced span the whole range of Greg Rucka's work with the character, so if you're a fan we hope you'll enjoy all the inside jokes. This was a lot of fun to write, and Renee remains one of my personal favorites. Happy reading.

_I grew up in Gotham. Born here, raised here, was a cop here for more years than I like to think about. I left enough of myself on the walls of this town that I can smell it, so you could say I’m something of an expert on it. Enough that you should take it seriously when I tell you this: I hate this place._

_I’m so glad I moved._

Renee Montoya shifted her shoulders slightly under her trenchcoat as she stood up, stretching away a last kink as the elevated train rolled into Gotham Central Terminal and came to a stop. She tucked her fedora onto her head, brushing a few short strands of dark hair out of her face, and stepped out into the rain without bothering to glance at the baggage racks. Everything she had - and needed - fit neatly into the case over her left shoulder. She’d gotten damn good at traveling light, at being invisible, in these last few years.

She cut the thought off before she could muse about exactly how many more she might have to practice.

The rain kissed her face as she took the dark stairs down to the street, and she lifted her head to let it soak into her as she felt pavement under her feet again. That was something every cop, every real detective knew - there was nothing like city pavement. Better than a road map, better than a confessional - the city knew it all, and if you just listened to its whisper under your feet you could find anything.

“Miss Montoya!”  The voice from behind her was too young, too eager, yet anyone who’d watched five minutes of the news anywhere in the United States in the past year would recognize Tim Wayne by sound.  “Welcome back to Gotham.  You’re looking healthy.”  He extended his umbrella to cover her.

“It’s Gotham. Don’t expect it to last.” Renee glanced down at the boy and crooked a smile at him. “You walk pretty well for a boy who took bullets in his knees, Timothy. Maybe I’ll borrow your doctor.”

“It’s amazing what four of the best surgeons east of the Rockies can do, really.  Will you be in town long?  Can I get you a cup of coffee?”  Tim grinned.  “Or a ride?  I’d imagine you wouldn’t want to walk much of anywhere in this.”

“Used to walk in worse. ‘Course, I was younger and dumber, then. Still, the rain’s not so bad. You can only get so wet with water, after all - not like other things.” Montoya leaned her head back and stepped out from under his umbrella to let the rain kiss her lips one more time, then turned to look at him under the brim of her fedora in a gesture that shadowed her features almost to invisibility. “I imagine that if I tell you to leave me alone, he’ll come and find me later?”

“Who knows, with him?  Probably.”  Tim shrugged, that boyish grin fading into something more serious.  “We need to talk.  Take me up on my offer of a ride.”

“A real Gotham welcome. Probably even brought the cement in the back.” Renee’s voice was low and subtly different - almost ethereal. “ _Ave! duci novo, similis duci seneci._ ”

“You didn’t really expect the city to change, did you?  The first three times the world came apart didn’t change it.”  Tim’s smile was back, and he opened the back door to the very expensive Mercedes for her.

“Funny thing about change. It comes when you least expect it to, then tosses the place.” Renee slipped in and settled herself in the seat, whole body relaxed and calm as she drew in a breath and let it out. _Wherever you are, Charlie, you’re probably laughing. The more things change, the more they stay the same._

Tim slid into the back seat on the opposite side, leaning forward to speak to the driver.  “Forty-eighth street Hilton.  I’m sure Miss Montoya will want to rest.”  As the car moved, he turned his complete attention on Renee.  “As far as I know, Bruce doesn’t know why you’re here.  Batman may not even know that you’re here.  I’m probably wrong; they always know more than you want them to.”

“How is the acrobat, anyway? Still smiling for the cameras?” Renee crooked a smile at him, eyes level. _You want to talk here, we can talk here. Let’s see how much you’re willing to air in front of the help, Tim._

“He’s doing well.  I think he’s settled into his work quite nicely.”  Tim lowered his voice, though it had the air of being out of habit - he was nowhere near quiet enough for the driver not to be able to hear.  “I understand you were approached about a job with us.”

“Then you also understand what I told him and why.” Renee tossed her head very slightly, eyes unreadable. “Not to mention that I have a job already.”

“You’ve been researching information about Case 143.  When we arrive at the hotel, you’ll find a file with everything I’ve gathered in it in the dresser of your room.”  Tim stretched his leg, a motion that should be impossible even with four of the best surgeons east of the Rockies having repaired it.  “When they don’t tell me things, I get nervous, Miss Montoya.  If you want to dig into this, leave my name out and try to avoid rocking the boat too much.  I’ll be in touch.”  The car pulled to a stop beside the road at the hotel.

“Thank you for the ride, Mr. Wayne.” Renee reached for the door, then paused and looked over her shoulder as she pushed it open. “I owe you one. I’m sure I’ll be hearing from you sooner rather than later.”

“Count on it, Miss Montoya.  Driver, home.”  The door closed, and the car pulled away.

She took off her hat and tucked it and the trenchcoat over one arm, the open-collared shirt and vest she was wearing under her suit coat showing as she stepped into the revolving door. She walked to the desk, picked up her key with only the single word - “Montoya” - and then took the elevator up. Ten minutes later, she had her hair rinsed and slick around the back of her neck and the file spread out in front of her on the suite’s large front table, her eyes moving slowly over it as she sipped the cup of coffee she’d made for herself. _The kid’s pretty good. Thorough, too. Wonder how much time he put into this?_

The file was relatively compact, but that was a testament more to the efficiency with which the information was presented than to how much was there - not a single page-inch was wasted, photographs were stored on a DVD slipped into a pocket of the folder rather than taking up space in print, and everything was thoroughly cross-referenced.  If the GCPD had its evidence files done so well, they’d be able to cut enough off the budget to afford good coffee.

She turned the DVD over in her fingers, then dropped it into the TV’s player and set it running on a slow slideshow while she returned to the pages, working through them again with the careful focus Jim and Charlie had drilled into her until it was second nature. Patience had never been her virtue, but he’d made her practice it until it became a skill. _Haste ruins more cases than bad luck, bad timing and stupidity put together. Take your time._

When she walked away from the table again, it was forty minutes later and what was left of her coffee was cold. She dumped it into the sink, refilling the cup, and sipped it absently as she packed up the file and tucked it away, then walked past the television to stare out into the night at the city.

_Damn._

“You don’t want to be involved in this.”  Silent as night, a figure seemed to materialize from nothing on the balcony.  The small form stepped through the door, barely seeming to pause to open it, before casting the hood of its cloak back, arm lifting the folds away to reveal the bright red of his clothing and the green domino mask.  “It’s dealt with.  Nothing good can come from digging.”

“The youngest Mister Wayne.” Renee didn’t turn her head, still slowly sipping her coffee. “Is the ghost of Robins still to come on my agenda next?”

“We know it won’t be the ghost of Jim Corrigan.”  Robin’s voice dripped with scorn.  “Gotham doesn’t need you any more, Montoya.”

“No, Gotham always had people like you in plenty. Ask Harvey Bullock.” Renee turned her head, studying him with cool eyes and a subtle smile. “Please tell me you didn’t come here to try to intimidate me. I’d be embarrassed for you.”

“None of them have been me.  You’re barking up the wrong tree here.”  Robin turned, walking back out onto the balcony.  “Stay out of it.”  Then he was gone.

“Mmmm.” Renee finished her coffee and set the cup down on the table, then stretched her shoulders, eyes narrowed as she allowed herself a small smile. “Thank you for the confirmation, Boy Wonder.” Without undressing, she lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. “Maybe everything else will be this easy.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Question knelt in the center of the apartment’s kitchen, her eyes half-closed behind her mask as she visualized the “accident” from the police photos. The man’s body.... here. Neck broken, twisted to the right. The fallen ladder on top of him, where it had compounded the short fall. The hidden gun he’d been reaching for still half-balanced on the rim of the cabinet.

She stood slowly, her eyes still shuttered, running her fingers along the wall - feeling the imperfections and the damage to the cheap plaster, settling her finger at eye level just where the ladder had rested when not in use - its scuff marks were gone now with a fresh coat of paint, but they’d been there in the photo. She pressed, slowly, and the fresh paint dimpled almost too subtly to feel. She opened her eyes, looking intently at the spot, then hitched her nail to the edge of the cheap paint and peeled it back.

The thread-thin hole was there.

She walked out, opening the door to the empty hallway in the building just one bribe from condemnation, and counted off the steps from the door, turning to stare carefully at the faux-wood paneling. The hole stared back at her, almost lost in the grain of the wood.

 _ Damn. I guess it really isn’t paranoia when they’re out to get you, is it? _ She flexed her hand slowly, wiping it clean and then sliding it back into her glove as she took the camera from her pocket and took a picture of the hole, then went back inside and did the same. It could be anything - a pair of pinholes left from a dozen residents in the last five years, a coincidence of imperfections. Anything.

She knew better.

Her fedora drawn low across her brow, she shrugged deeper into her trenchcoat and started down the narrow stairs for the street.  _Need to see the other scenes - get a look at the canvass files at GCPD. Property register? If they were there, they’d have wanted to be close. Renter’s records...._

Twenty minutes, and she was back on the street with a copy of every rental agreement for the last three years in her pocket, courtesy of a high quality digital camera and a quick shakedown of the manager’s office.

A shadow crossed the street before her, some great bird momentarily obscuring the moon.  An instinctive shiver ran down her spine, the legacy of decades in Gotham, but she refused to let her pace quicken or slacken. She loosened her shoulders and walked steadily onward, her eyes invisible in her empty face.  _Let’s see how he handles that._

“Did you find anything?”  He was next to her a moment later, walking with her and matching her leisurely pace, his cape fluttering with each breeze down the long road.

“Maybe. A beginning.” The words were cautious, but her tone was certain. Renee Montoya  _knew_ what had happened in that kitchen - proving it would be something else. “Your young friend tried to scare me off. I hope he wasn’t too humiliated when it didn’t work.”

“I had the feeling that he had spoken with you.  He was more irritable than usual last night.”  Batman turned his eyes on her.  “What do you believe the truth to be?”

Renee turned on him - but that wasn’t right, was so wrong that he could taste it in his bones. The empty cipher that looked at him from below that blue fedora was the Question, stripped of every sign of Renee Montoya except the hard bright core of her. She matched his stare with a gaze he could feel even if he couldn’t see, lifting a hand and counting off on her fingers. “First, there was no accident in that kitchen. A man was murdered by the smallest artifice, by someone who had ready access to that building. Second, Vanessa Carlton is innocent of the crime she was convicted of - a crime that was left empty like a noose for her because that man died. Third, you or your boss knew she was being convicted of a crime she hadn’t committed and did nothing - probably because you knew she was guilty of another death you couldn’t prove. Fourth, none of these things were done without prompting.”

“Prove it and we’ll talk.  This one is yours, Question.  I’ll see to it that Robin doesn’t bother you further.”  Batman’s frown carried the weight of worlds, then he was gone.

She stood a moment in the alley, looking up and down it, and then chuckled in the back of her throat. “He’s nicer than the original. Not any less righteous, though - God help him.” 

Hands tucked into her pockets, she let the street swallow her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's wondering - yes, that was Richard Grayson as Batman.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Someone’s had the door open. _ Renee froze as her hand touched the knob, tracing the subtle marks of entry, and her right hand slipped into her jacket and came out with the Browning semi-automatic she’d been wearing the day Charlie walked into her booze-drenched apartment. She let out her breath, drew it in again, then kicked the door open and threw herself through it in a low, plunging roll as she swept the gun up to center it on the shadows cast by the half-open curtains. 

“You point that thing at friends often?”  Helena Bertenelli raised her hands over her head in a gesture that would have, from anyone else, seemed almost mocking.  “I thought you didn’t carry any more.”

“Only the ones that break into my place without calling ahead.” Renee straighted up and holstered the gun again without taking her eyes off Helena, a small smile tugging at her lips. “This is Gotham. I have good hands, but gangs with heavy rifles can still wreck your whole day. It’s good to see you, Helena.” 

“Likewise.”  Helena sauntered to Renee’s bed, sitting on the foot of it.  “I understand Robin visited you last night.  Please tell me you’re the one who embarrassed the twerp.”

“Can’t take credit. He did it to himself.” Renee spread her hands, smiling a crooked half-grin. “Some people just have to try to wrestle the ocean.”

“Last I heard, you were off somewhere in the Himalayas.  Find what you were looking for?”  Helena patted the bed next to her in a way that might seem a bit too inviting.

“More or less.” Renee settled down on the bed lightly, watching Helena’s eyes, looking for the truth in them. “A few answers, and always more questions. That’s the way of the world.”

“Sometimes questions get people hurt.  People who deserve better.”  Helena reached for Renee’s hand, squeezing it tightly.  “People who do a lot of good.”

“Sometimes.” Renee looked into her friend’s eyes without flinching - those same dark eyes that had held Vandal Savage’s so steadily. “Sometimes the road to understanding what we need to understand is a terrible mercy. All we can do is keep walking.”

“You know which side I’m on here, Renee.  I don’t want to work against you... but this time, there’s someone I love on the line.  Someone I can’t let get hurt.”  Huntress squeezed Renee’s hand firmly.  “You’re going to keep going, though, aren’t you?”

“It’s who I am.” Renee smiled, a touch of sadness in the gesture. “Who I’m called to be, Helena. I am the Question - I have to ask. The same way Charlie had to stand in front of your car that night.”

“Can I ask you something, then?”   Helena matched Renee’s sad smile.  “What brought this to your attention?”

“A newspaper clipping. The hint of a thread in a pattern.” Renee spread her hand slightly. “Have you ever smelled blood in the water and known your quarry was somewhere, even if you couldn’t see them? It was like that, from a great distance.” She reached out and laid her hand on Helena’s face, touching her gently. “I wish I didn’t have to do this, for your sake. For the sake of the woman you love, too.”

“Is it them?  The ones you’ve been chasing across the world since the year Vic died?  The ones who brought Savage here?”  Helena rested her face against Renee’s hand for a long moment.  “Could they be after her?”

“Her. You. The Batman. A person on the street we’ve never met. They could be after anyone, Helena. They’re like a cancer - they infect everything they reach.” Renee’s eyes were quiet, and very hard. “They’re here, and I’m going to cut them out. That’s why I came.”

Helena rested there another long, heavy moment before pushing back from Renee and rising to her feet.  “Tim doesn’t know what happened.  Neither does...”

“Mr. Grayson.” Renee finished her sentence for her. “He didn’t flinch when he told me to solve it today. He isn’t part of it, except as a pawn. You are. The boy either knows or simply intimidates without asking the reason - a great deal like his mother, only less brilliant in his foolishness. I suspect that the Batman at least knows what you did, if he didn’t help you.”

“You know far too much already.  There are a lot of people as dangerous as Savage who would kill you to learn what you’ve puzzled out, or take you alive to draw it from you.  I’m going to go to her, Renee... watch yourself while you’re here.  More than usual.”  Huntress turned, an instinctive motion that managed to show her off in the best light possible, and strutted toward the door.  “Please keep yourself safe.”

“It is the nature of man and woman to die, Helena. All we can do is do it well.” The Question watched her go, and Renee Montoya’s longing lived behind her eyes. “I am the deepest well for secrets - no one will draw them but me.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You have abandoned your duty, Faceless, and now you work at odds with us.”  The men who had stepped out of the alley had not been ordinary thugs - that much was obvious from how they carried themselves - but the words of their leader left no question as to who they were.  “We have been left alone, since you abandoned us.  Return and claim your place under the High Madame.”

“Duty.” The Question laughed softly around the word, her hands open and loose at her sides as she look in the men. “I have a duty, and it calls me to places far from that one. What have you done here, disciples of the Dark Faith? What is your purpose?”

“We serve at the whim of the High Madame, Faceless.  What she wills, we do.  We are her fist, her foot, her capacity for murder.”  The man’s voice held no passion as he spoke, no emotion at all - in spite of his appearance, he had the air of a professor delivering a lecture memorized years ago.

“Her ability to speak in sentences not cribbed from a mediocre Englishman?” Renee put an edge of scorn in the quip.

“Murder marks you, Faceless... you hide it, yet we feel it.  Even now, you are called back to us.  Return, and do as you are prophesied to do.”

“Destiny is an old man’s word for going with the flow.” The streetlamp flicked on the emptiness of the Question’s face, and her hands clenched. “You know my answer. Do as you will.”

“Very well...”  The man hesitated a moment before sliding into a fighting stance, his weight on his back heel, his hands raised ready to attack.  At their leader’s prompting, the others with him did the same.  “You will not live to see tomorrow, Faceless.  By my hand, bone is made powder.”

The Question answered him, not with words but with her hands. In one moment she was still, calm, and in the next she was a flashing whisper of smoke and motion among them, hands striking with the speed and force of a storm.

The members of the Order were strong - immensely, terribly strong, trained to deal as much damage with every blow as possible.  When they landed a blow fully, it shattered bone and burst organs.  Those who faced them and survived did not often live long afterward.  But this power carried a cost - their style left them wide open to attack, and they killed with one or two blows so often that they were unprepared when a foe deflected or avoided their attacks.  The Question knew their moves, knew every attack in their arsenal, knew the counter to every attack - things written in the Black Book, things learned from experience.  The masters of the Order had tools which she had no easy counter to; these men were not the masters, and they were left bleeding and unable to move on the ground around her when she was done. She adjusted her hat slightly with one hand, then stepped forward and knelt over the leader - whose hands she had broken, one at a time  - and looked into his eyes. “I have beaten you. The police will come, and you will confess to the crimes on your hands.”

She stood, without waiting for his answer, and walked out into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

The subtle rain wormed across the ancient stone of the lower rooms of the bordello as The Question drifted through it, soft as a whisper, drawing the truth from the stone and the ruined furnishings. She could smell the scent of the Faith on this place - dark and thick enough to choke on - and beneath it the simmering ashes of lusts uncounted. A shiver of discomfort ran through her, but she put it aside with a thought - this was no time for personal reflections. She had work to do.

“You think they are involved.”  The deep, gravelly voice was so different from that of the acrobat that it was a wonder anyone had mistaken them for the same man.  He was invisible, still, tucked away in a shadow, his voice echoing through the large, old room to make it impossible to track.

“I do.” A little shiver ran up and down Renee’s back at that voice. Some part of her would always be the nervous rookie who grew up in the shadow of the Batman, and this was the man himself - the one she’d come to know, and to trust, and to struggle with. So strange to be speaking with him as an equal, and yet she could not have done otherwise. “I’m still proving it.”

“The evidence in this case has been vague, yet it has all pointed to the same conclusion - Marcus Schmidt was killed by Vanessa Carlton, with a wide kitchen knife.  There is no indication of involvement by the Dark Faith or any of their sects.”  There was a hint of motion to Question’s left... not him.  Where was he?

A flare of anger ran through Renee’s voice. “Don’t bullshit me. Vanessa Carlton was nowhere near Marcus Schmidt when he died, which you would damn well know. The twist in the right hand motion of the blade didn’t fit her at all. You let her go to jail for it because you couldn’t or wouldn’t prove she killed John Rains, and because the man who killed Marcus Schmidt was dead under a ladder which didn’t just happen to fall on his neck.”

“Convince me.”  There he was - he’d allowed Renee to see him, she knew, just for a moment.

She reached into one pocket and extracted a thin length of almost transparent wire, showing its strength by pulling it taut between her hands. “Two holes, matching alignment, the left-hand wall of the kitchen. Looped around the bottom leg of the ladder, probably. Pull, twist, crunch.”

“Tell me more.”  He stepped from the shadows, behind her, letting himself be heard.  How did a man in that much armor move that quietly?

“Standard Dark Faith ‘accident.’ Their way of removing someone who’s fallen as far as they’ll fall and might expose something that shouldn’t be known. In this case, though, I think it was more subtle. John Rains died on the 12th, and Philip on the 18th. Six days for them to notice that you were hesitating. For them to hand you an easy answer. Just a little detail unmentioned, and a murderer goes to jail for life on a crime she didn’t commit so you can save the secret of someone you care about.” She stepped toward him, the dim light playing over the empty void of her face. “Just a bite of the apple.”

He stepped into the light, a terrible incarnation of the night fully visible.  This was not the Batman who spoke at length with Jim Gordon, nor was it the Batman who calmly faced danger to bring the innocent out safely.  This was the Batman seen by the wicked - a monster of a man, an incarnation of fear born of the viewer’s own sins.  The Question looked back at him, unmoved. Unashamed. Awaiting his answer.

“The Dark Faith has sought to tarnish the Batman’s virtue.”  Batman spoke the statement as a question, seeking the Question’s expertise on a subject she understood better than he did - a rare admission, even delivered obliquely.

“You and yours; not just your own virtue, but theirs.” She watched him, her voice almost gently soft. “Your children. Helena. An unrighteous secret can be a poisonous seed, given time to grow.” _How well do I know that lesson?_ Renee Montoya’s lips quirked invisibly beneath the Question’s face, bittersweet with memory.

“I will speak with the Huntress.”  Batman stepped backward, out of the light.  “Continue your work.  I will contact you soon.”

“Thank you.” She stepped toward him, half into the shadow, her voice quiet with the weight of time. “It’s good to see you again. The world is set back in joint every time I do.”

A shadow of a smile crossed his lips.  “It is good to have you in Gotham again, Detective Montoya.”  Then he was gone, the night seeming to consume him - or, perhaps, Batman seeming to consume the night.


	6. Chapter 6

The food was indisputably good. A little higher on the hog than Renee Montoya had gotten used to living on, but if Timothy Wayne was willing to bankroll her meals she was willing to take them. She crooked a smile in amusement as she took another spoonful of lobster bisque, remembering how fiercely Detective Montoya would have resented that kind of “charity.” That was something else she’d learned from Charlie, learned hard - when someone offered you food, you took it. You never knew when the next meal might come along.

A restless corner of her mind prowled over what she knew - or thought she knew - about the underground chapel she’d be hunting in tonight. She refused to let it distract her from the warmth of the bread in her fingers and the sweet tang of the lobster in her mouth, though - there would be time enough for work later.

“Planning on leaving without saying goodbye?  Or hello, for that matter.”  Kate Kane seemed to materialize out of a group of diners, going from invisible to leaning against the back of the chair opposite Renee in seconds.  The black dress she wore hugged her body like a glove, clinging to every curve and drawing eyes over her whole figure.

Even if she’d been expecting the other woman - and in truth, she supposed, part of her had been since she arrive - Renee wasn’t ready for the way her chest ached as she looked up into those intense green eyes or the way her body clenched at the half-promise of that dress. Of course, she never had been. Probably never would be.   
  
Her hand only trembled slightly as she set her single glass of wine back on the table. “It wasn’t a social trip. Besides, I didn’t feel like explaining where I’d been to Maggie.”

“I worry about you, you know.”  Kate sat opposite Renee, letting her eyes fall on the glass.  “I thought you weren’t drinking.”

“One glass a week for the last six months.” Renee’s lips quirked in the ghost of a smile. “Abstinence is a thin wall compared to discipline.”

“You get addicted easily, Renee, and give in to returning to addictions even faster.  You’re in town for the same reason as your last visit?”  Kate’s face was kept in an expression of practiced neutrality, but a thousand emotions were under it - concern, worry, the tiny hint of joy granted by the rising of even the last vestiges of lost love.

“I’m working.” Renee made herself look Kate in the eye, unwilling to allow herself to flinch. A heat flared under the skin of her forehead in painful reminder, and she drew in a long breath.  _What I have done, I have done. I am responsible, but I will not be ashamed again._ “Friends who need help. The usual.”

“You’re here for  _them_ .  They’re the only thing that could pull you here.  Don’t you remember the last time... the Specter wound up after you for what happened.  You earned a full dose of the wrath of God himself.”  Kate let her hand fall to the table, rattling it.  “It never ends well, you and them.  Not once has it ended well.  Not once has it ended with  _you_ well.”

“I’ve never been that impressed with God. You’d think a supreme being could do a better job.” Renee leaned back in her chair slightly, a subtle smile on her lips as she let the thrill of Kate’s passion roll over her and then bleed away. “ _He_ needed help. He needed the truth. If I take a beating for it, I’ll take my lumps - that’s what I’m for. That’s what the Question is for. If I clean up some of their mess - my mess - in the process, that’s my business.”

“You’re going after them tonight.”  Kate’s face turned a whiter pale than its natural hue.  “You’re know where they are and you’re going after them tonight.  Damn it, Renee... I wanted you out of this.  I wanted you  _done_ with them.”

“I never was any good at giving you what you wanted, Kate.” Renee’s smiled faded into something sadder and harder. “It’s what I have to do.”

“I...”  Kate paused, a moment of revelation obvious on her face.  “I can’t go with you.  They turn us against each other... we turn against each other... so easily.  But promise me you won’t go alone.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” Renee looked into the eyes of the woman she’d loved more than her own life, and still not enough. “I’ll bring backup, Kate. My word on it.”

“Keep yourself alive tonight, Renee.”  Kate met that gaze.  “You have my number.  Call when you’re back here.  Call again before you leave Gotham.  If you don’t call tonight, I’m going to go looking for you.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Renee whispered the words, soft as a kiss. “You were the one worrying about my addictions, after all.”

“I can not answer if you’d like.  Just have you leave a message...”  Kate turned her eyes on the glass.  “A short recording of me late at night shouldn’t be too much for an alcoholic who drinks one glass of wine a week.”

_You were always a lot more potent than anything I could drink, Kate._ “Do what you want. I’ll call.”

“Good.”  Kate met Renee’s eyes for another moment, then tore herself away, pushing herself to her feet and away from the table.  “I need to get home.  I have a long night ahead.”

“You go safe, too. The Twice-Named isn’t any less on their list.” Renee reached for the bread again, taking a bite and finding it cool under her lips. “I don’t want to meet you that way again.”

Kate opened her mouth to reply, and found herself without an answer.  She gave a hint of an understanding smile before melting back into the crowd.

Renee looked down at the meal in front of her, resisting the urge to push away from the table and walk out into the night. To get to work now, right now.  _Live with it, Montoya. The work isn’t an escape, either._ She picked up her knife carefully, then started on her steak with deliberate care.  _It’s more important than that._


	7. Chapter 7

The message came as Renee was bargaining with an airport clerk to get her bag checked without paying the exceptionally high fee, telling her the exact cost in fuel that the bag added and offering to pay that amount.  Her phone gave a long beep, not something in its usual vocabulary of incessantly annoying MIDI sounds and too-short clips of generic pop music from just long enough ago to be thoroughly played out, and piercing enough that even Charlie would have been unlikely to be able to ignore it.  When she checked the phone, it held a text message from an anonymous source - something supposedly impossible in itself.  “The last answer will be at the Clock Tower.”

She stood there looking at it for a moment, balancing the phone in her hand, then collected her bag from the counter one-handed and walking out the door without a glance back at the clerk, leaving the ticket order half-written on the counter. The pavement came up to meet her feet, and she drank in the twilight of the city as she breathed it in - the walk, the taxi, the people she brushed past as she walked into the old Clock Tower and stepped into the elevator without choosing a floor. She leaned back against the wall of the car, looking up at the light in its ceiling, and crooked her lips in a smile. “Hello, Oracle.”

The elevator responded by silently beginning its rise, and when it arrived at its destination Renee was greeted by a wide, cluttered space, with more computer equipment than any three university computer labs in Gotham would have.  Wires seemed to run toward the ceiling from a thousand places, leaving the room through holes in the wall and going to ten thousand more.  Helena sat, in her costume, off to one side, looking for all the world like a child who had been sent to the corner for some minor violation of her parents’ rules.  A voice - familiar, melodic, impossible - chimed from beyond one of the computer consoles.  “You arrived sooner than I expected.  I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Renee stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth working slowly, and after what felt like an eternity she found herself turning to give Helena an accusing look - as if the other woman were somehow responsible for the world having turned itself inside out. 

Helena managed somehow to look even more chastised at Renee’s look as the source of the voice emerged from behind the console.  Long red hair, a face that drew the eye, and a body that had been the cause of more police learning how to look at someone without seeming to look at them than anything else in Gotham - Barbara Gordon greeted Renee with a wave.  “You know, I imagine right now you’re feeling what I felt when I realized that the new Question was Detective Montoya.  We have a lot to catch up on... but I thought you were owed an explanation, for everything.”

_Remember your breathing._ Renee drew in a slow breath, hearing the instruction in Charlie’s voice like she always did, and the familiar touchstone settled her nerves. She gave Helena one more look promising that eventually there would be consequences for this, then dragged a chair out and settled down into it so she could meet Barbara’s gaze at eye level. “I suppose that nobody is exactly who they seem to be, in the end. Where shall we start?”

“I never told Bruce.  I told Dick, but Bruce... he probably had everything he needed to figure out what was going on, but as far as I know he didn’t know.  I don’t think, if he’d been confronted with it, he could have let it happen.”  The words escaped Helena in a torrent.  “Dick was the only one I told, and Bruce was the only one who could have found out.  Tim and Barbara... even the kid... they knew nothing.”

Renee quirked the faintest hint of a smile, tilting her head, and there was something in the way that she looked out from under her hat that made the gesture instantly arresting. “Barbara was the missing witness at the Rains murder. It removed the one clue that could have solved that crime, and left the opening for temptation when the murderer of Marcus Schmidt had his accident. You missed this, by the way.” Renee tossed the clear strand of wire to Helena underhand. “Through the wall. They left the holes.”

“It wasn’t an accident...”  Helena looked the wire over before passing it to Barbara.  “That’s the real reason you were here, isn’t it?  To find who killed the killer.”

“I knew who. It was the why that eluded me.” Renee rested her chin on her fingers, allowing herself a small smile. “Then you gave me that, too.”

“That’s an answer I’ve been unable to ferret out, even after Helena came clean.  Care to share with the class?”  Barbara’s eyes sparked, and for a moment Renee could imagine her at the front of a university classroom, questioning the work of a student.

“The Religion of Crime - you probably know that much. The Order of the Stone, particularly - they’ve had a chapel in Gotham for a while that I hadn’t been able to pin down.” Renee allowed herself a dry chuckle. “But then the opportunity to tarnish the virtue of the Batman and his apprentices fell into their lap. A murder that couldn’t be solved, a murderer who could be fitted neatly for a noose if the right chance was just offered - and a man they were finished with who’d committed exactly the right sort of murder. A man whose death would neatly open that noose for Miss Carlton, and tie up everyone’s problems in a perfect bow.”

“They took it, and it payed off.  They won.”  Oracle sighed, shooting a disappointed look at Helena, who lowered her eyes and passed the wire to Barbara to inspect.  “At least tell me they paid something for this.”

“The chapel turned itself in to the police last night after I had a word with them.” Renee shrugged her shoulders lightly, favoring the bruises in her back and shoulders slightly. “Might have had something to do with the SWAT waiting at the exits, too. All of them have secrets, and the evidence of most of those secrets was handed over to the GCPD by a.... concerned citizen.”

“Sounds like the night wasn’t a total loss, then, at least.”  Barbara passed the wire back to Renee.  “Though it leaves us in an interesting position.  We could have the truth of this - at least, what truth is safe - given to those who can act on it, which would clear Miss Carlton of the crime of which she is innocent... but even if we handed over the whole truth, the fact that she was convicted once on false information will make trying her for the crime of which she is guilty impossible.  Which is more important - justice or truth?”

“Truth. Always truth. When we lie to ourselves or to each other, all the justice in the world can’t make it right.” Renee’s lips curved in a quiet, sad smile as she wound the wire around her hand. “Because then it isn’t justice anymore, is it? Just punishment.”

“Then we have to do what we have to do.  Helena, you should go home for the night... get some rest; there’s going to be a long day tomorrow.  I think Miss Carlton can stand one more night in prison.”  As Helena walked out - a touch of defiance that was entirely overshadowed by remorse in her step - Barbara turned her full attention on Renee.  “My father spoke with great regret when you resigned from the force, but I have to admit... I think this job suits you more.”

Renee watched Helena go for a moment, then spoke without turning her head. “I didn’t have anything left, then. I spent it all - sometimes justly, sometimes carelessly and stupidly. It took a good friend to fill that void up again and make me someone who could be any good to anyone.”

“I’d like to see more of you, Renee.  I know you work well with Helena... I doubt you want to move back to Gotham, but I could use someone who’s more loyal to the truth than to me.  Tonight, I learned that for a fact.”  Barbara adjusted herself in her chair, grimacing lightly at a small ache.  “Even if it’s just to check on us from time to time.”

“My friends don’t tend to do very well, but if you want to borrow trouble that’s your lookout.” Renee eased up out of her chair and knelt down next to Barbara’s, pressing her palm to a pressure point at the base of the red-head’s shoulder that loosened every muscle in her right side. “I probably should have figured this out when Helena said you were her ‘source,’ but I guess I just can’t get over thinking of you as the Comissioner’s little girl.”

Barbara sighed quietly in contentment as her body went loose.  “Information broker to the Justice League... that’s me.”  She smiled a bit lazily to Renee.  “I wish I’d become your friend before this.”

“I think your father might have minded a little. I wasn’t very good at keeping my hands to myself back then.” Renee crooked a smile down at her.

“And you’ve gotten better now?”  Barbara tipped her head to the side, grinning at Renee.  “Or should I not have asked that?”

“A little.” Renee smiled back wryly, gently extracting her hand from Barbara’s back and spreading her hands in admission. “Not much, but a little.”

“My back hasn’t felt this relaxed since before Darkseid... way before Darkseid.  Where did you learn to do that?”  Barbara rolled her shoulders before settling back in the chair.

“Nanda Parbat. Richard taught me.” Renee smiled softly, fondly. “Richard and Charlie. Like they taught me pretty much everything.”

“I’ve never been... I should visit, assuming there’s a way to get me there.  Then again, Superman’s on my speed dial...”  Barbara shrugged, marvelling again at how painlessly her shoulders moved.  “I’m sorry for what happened here... I didn’t know that it was happening, but it was on my watch.  My responsibility.”

“And Helena has no responsibility for her actions? Or Mr. Grayson, or Mr. Wayne?” Renee gave Barbara a gently scolding look. “You take too much on yourself.”

“That I bear responsibility doesn’t absolve them.”  Barbara smiled slightly.  “And I am my father’s daughter.”

“How is he? I miss him.” Renee smiled faintly in answer. “He was the best man I ever worked for.”

“Older.  More tired.  Still himself... he couldn’t stay on the sidelines for long.  He’s promising to retire again, but this one won’t hold any more than the last one did.”  Barbara reached for Renee’s hand.  “He can’t stop blaming himself for things no one could have stopped, any more than Bruce can.”

Renee slipped her hands around Barbara’s, squeezing it gently. “Forgiving yourself is the hardest damn thing in the world to do. I had to go to the ends of the earth twice to make a good start of it.”

“If that’s part of what they teach at Nanda Parbat, I’m definitely going to have to take a trip out there.”  Barbara returned the squeeze, tightly.

“It’s worth the trip.” Renee’s eyes shone for a moment with a little girl’s joy. “No matter how you get there, it’s always worth the trip.”

“You’ve found something, Renee.  It makes you shine.”  Barbara settled into the chair, smiling.  “You’re positively glowing.  You have been since you got up here... even when you weren’t happy with things.  It reminds me of... someone.”

“I’m just who I am, Barbara. No more, no less. Whatever people find in that is theirs to make sense of.” The subtle curl of Renee’s lip hinted at dry humor, though her voice was serious. “I’m just here to ask the question.”

“I’m glad to have you doing that.  We all get too convinced we have all the answers sometimes.”  Barbara squeezed Renee’s hand once more, tightly.

“Family vice.” Renee shook her head slightly, gently untangling her fingers from Barbara’s with a hint of regret in her eyes. “I ought to hit the road, Barbara. I’m sure you know how to track me down.”

“If I don’t, I’ll be able to find out.”  Was there a hint of regret in Barbara’s voice as well?  “Have a good trip, to wherever you’re going.”

“I’ll know when I get there. Take care of Helena - she loves you enough to walk right into hell for you.”

“I’m particularly lucky in my friends.  Take care, Renee.”

The street and the night welcomed Renee Montoya back with open arms, and she stood out in the flare of the old iron lamps to let the delicate flutter of rain kiss her cheeks. She tucked her hands in her pockets, breathing deeply, and the perfume of Gotham City filled her mouth - rich, thick and stinking of ruin. She breathed it out again, slowly and deeply, and reached for the phone in her pocket. She didn’t have to look down for the number - it was etched into the memory of her fingers, even now. 

The soft ring trilled with promise.

“Renee?”  Kate’s voice was quiet, but there was a note of surprise in it.  “You’re on your way out?”

“Case is all done, Kate. It’s time.” Renee drank in another breath of that raw night air, letting the tears slowly spill down her cheeks. “I have to go.”

Though Kate did not sob, her voice broke softly as she responded.  “Take care, Renee.  I mean it.  Keep yourself safe.”

“As much as I can. You do the same, Katey.” Renee’s voice was steady, quietly serene, though her eyes burned behind their closed lids. “If I don’t see you again....”  _I love you. I always have. I know you don’t, and I know it’s because I wasted it. I’m so sorry, Kate. So damn sorry._ “That ticket was the best night of my life.”

“You kept me going, when all I knew how to do was stop.”  Renee heard the brush of Kate’s hand against the phone as she wiped her eyes.  “There’s something different about you now.  It’s good.  Find... find what makes you happy.”

“You, too. I was never anything but an idiot about you, Kate. Thanks for giving me a chance, anyway.” Renee wiped her face slowly, letting out her breath. “I have to go. Like you said - old habits.”

“Take care.  I’ll hold things down here.”  Then, with a soft beep, Kate was silent.

The phone clicked closed softly, finding a home in the pocket of the long trenchcoat, and the Question tucked her collar up around her throat as the night wind reached out for her. She turned away from the lights and walked out into the dark of the street, a hiss of gas rising like smoke around her, and passed out of sight.


End file.
